


cycle 66

by BlueMoonHound



Series: Lucretia [1]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Crew as Family, Dissociation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Violence, Light Angst, Temporary Character Death, Trauma, cycle 65, not sure what archive warnings would apply
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 10:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12815340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMoonHound/pseuds/BlueMoonHound
Summary: She closes the scissors around a cluster of selected curls in one decisive action, taking a deep, steadying breath as they fall to the floor. She takes another handful, careful to measure out the length to about where she wants it, and again, she cuts.I could have died and then what? Then what?? We would have been consumed. We all would have died.





	cycle 66

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this thing I drew](http://bluemoonhound.tumblr.com/post/167840649437/bluemoonhound-this-this-horrible-lonely-year)

She decides to cut her hair. She sits down at her desk, stares in the mirror for a while, tired-- no, exhausted-- while her reflection stares back. She feels old, now, like a single year of strife and solitude encapsulated an entire lifetime. She reaches a finger up, touches a spot where a short, deep scar once ran down her face, a scar no one on the crew will see. No one ever will see it. No one will know the pain she's been through, and she decides she's okay with that.

_I made it. I made it I made it I. Made. It._

Lucretia picks up her scissors (the good ones, the ones she uses for repairing her robe on long years when things tear and fall apart, the ones she uses for cutting the wicks on candles and cutting cloth bindings for new journals, not the ones she uses for paper because paper abuses scissors like an angry father figure) and takes a handful of her hair with the other hand. For a moment, she pauses, because she's had this hair for half a century and she loves it, it's like a security blanket and a reminder that, no matter what, she's still the same, but she brings the scissors in because she's not the same anymore, and if she decides this isn't right, well, her hair grows fast and it'll all reset next session anyway.

_I could have died._

She closes the scissors around a cluster of selected curls in one decisive action, taking a deep, steadying breath as they fall to the floor. She takes another handful, careful to measure out the length to about where she wants it, and again, she cuts.

_I could have died and then what? Then what?? We would have been consumed. We all would have died._

She can feel tears weaving their way down her face and opts to ignore them, because frankly, she doesn't want to be thinking those thoughts at all. She fixes some stray ends, observing the lopsided appearance garnered by chopping off a quarter of ones own hair. Of course, she knows it won't remain that way, but it's amusing her all the same.

_What if they hadn't come back? What if it had been just you, just you alone forever, weaving from universe to universe on a ship you don't know how to control? What then? What if you died, What if things went so wrong--_

Her blood is pulsating in her fingertips. She knows what that means, and ignores it-- hair now, breakdown later. One thing after another. She knows it can wait. She's learned that control, or maybe she always had it-- she's not sure. Snip. Snip. Another deep, shuddering breath. A tear falls off her chin and lands on her jeans.

Someone knocks at the door.

 _Snip._ “Hello?” She can feel her eyebrows knitting together-- she doesn't mind them knowing, not really, but now's not the time. She can't be the timid chronicler anymore. She has a family to protect.

“Lucretia? I know you went through some shit last cycle, and I wanted to make sure you're okay.” It's Merle. The gruff sound of his voice is music to her ears. _They're still here, they're still here. That cycle is over, it's behind you now._

She hears the door open. Light floods in behind her.

Snip.

“Lucretia, are you alright?” Inquisitive.

“I'm fine, Merle.” she replies. _Snip_. As an afterthought, she adds, “Go away,” as serious as she can muster.

“Oh, uh, okay, just tell me if you need anything I'll be in the kitchen, I think Taako's making stew or something.” He starts to close the door. “I'll uh, I'll go.”

For a moment, Lucretia is tempted to tell him to stay, to sit on her bed and ramble about whatever's on his mind so she can ignore the thoughts in her brain for a little while, but now's not the time. Now is not the time.

Half her head is done now, hair trimmed to a reasonably short length, just enough so it gathers around her ears still. She wonders just how much easier short hair is to manage. She runs her fingers through the voluminous curls still remaining on the left side of her head, watching them bounce back in the mirror. Well. Time to find out.

 

Thirty minutes later, hair completely shorn, Lucretia puts down her scissors. She looks very different now, and she gets dizzy when she turns her head too fast – a side effect she didn't expect. It's not terrible. She runs a hand over her newly short hair, marveling at the weight, the simplicity, and most notably, how much older she looks, all of a sudden.

She knows that has to be some kind of social construct. Is she writing this down? She should be writing this down. It's fascinating.

She sniffles. Runny nose because.. oh yeah. She was crying. She rubs little bits of tear-salt out of her eyes and stands up. How long has it been since she took a shower? Not that it really matters, since the reset, but it's been… a week? Longer? It would feel good to take a shower. As far as she knows, it's fairly normal to take a shower after one cuts their hair.

She moves her chair and sweeps up the pieces of hair littering her floor, leaving one on her desk because, well, because memories, she supposes. She can do that next cycle too, perhaps. She's sure she did a poor job on the back, she can't see the back of her own head, but she also doesn't have a second mirror to double check… oh well, it'll grow out, and the twins will stop scolding her for poor fashion eventually.

She pulls out her best white robe and her IPRE cloak, staring at them for a moment (clean, not ripped and torn, safe) and puts them on her bed. Shower.

She sits on the floor next to her shower stall and waits for the water to heat up, her head pounding. She takes a deep breath and lets go. Emotions she's been holding back for the past hour flood out. She sobs, her body buzzing with static and something like vertigo; fear and relief spill onto the floor. Steam rises from the shower stall, filling the room with dewey warmth. She undresses and washes dirt, sorrow, and stray pieces of freshly cut hair down the drain.

She doesn't quite feel perfect after her shower but she certainly feels much better. She pulls on the clothes she set out and grabs a fresh new notebook, one of her spares, heading into the hall.

It's quiet, but for the first time in months, it's not silent.

She wants to cry again. Instead, she heads down the hall, following the smell of Taako's delicious beef stew. It's empty on the way there, the other dormatory doors closed shut tight. Against all odds, this place feels more like home than even their homeworld did. Maybe that's because she's lived almost a whole human lifespan on this ship. That's probably it.

She feels tired.

 

For a moment Lucretia stands in the doorway, feeling like an outsider.

Merle and Magnus are joking about ducks, Davenport is reviewing one of her journals, Taako is at the stove, Barry and Lup are pouring over something she can't quite see. Six is such a neat, even number.

Taako spots her first, turning from the stove with a freshly ladeled bowl of stew and yelling “You cut your hair!”

Lucretia isn't sure what she expected. His ears indicate that he's happy, so at least that's something.

She clears her throat. “Yes. Hello. Um. I cut my hair, I do believe I'm going to keep it like this.”

Davenport looks up, his eyebrows raised for a moment. He shrugs and goes back to his reading.

Lup makes an “EYYYY” noise, Magnus and Barry compliment the new look, and Merle just… smiles. But of course Merle knew. He knew something was up, and he checked on her. Despite his blundering nature, Merle has shining moments of complete clarity.

“Any particular reason? Or did you just decide to cut your hair?” Magnus asks.

“I just needed a change. That stew smells delicious, may I?” Lucretia takes a step towards taako, tucking her journal into the pocket of her robe.

“Gotcha covered, lucy,” Taako says, handing over the bowl he was holding and turning to serve another. She takes it, reaching to nab a spoon from the bottom shelf where she'd started putting them before realizing that of course they're going to be back in the drawer where they belong, now, and stepping around the elf to pull one from the cupboard instead.

It feels odd, after a year by herself, to sit down at a table full of people and eat a meal made by a chef – odd and overwhelming and for a moment she's fighting back tears again when she puts her spoon in her mouth for the first time, because she's just so happy to be reaquainted with her family – but she takes a deep breath and deals with it. Things have changed for her.

 _-_ _And now we have to perservere, no matter what it takes, we have to win, we have to defeat the hunger or drive it off-- The more worlds we protect, the better, and_ _YOU'RE the_ _protector, Lucretia, you're a wizard with_ _a focus_ _in Abjuration--_

Not now, not now.

_I made it._


End file.
